


If Not Me...

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon - Book, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, In their tent in the North during their battle with the Wights, Internal Monologue, One Shot, Plans For The Future, Pledges of Eternal Love and Fidelity, Possessive Jaime Lannister, Romance, Sexual Content, Soul-Searching, Soulmates, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27651958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister are lovers, and every night they seek comfort in each other's arms whilst the cold winds of winter roar beyond the walls of their tent.  Brienne is reflective and thoughtful, seeking to decipher the last pieces of the complex puzzle which forms her beloved lion.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 28
Kudos: 156





	If Not Me...

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> This is an entirely self-indulgent little one-shot. At first I was going to just keep this tale to myself - as it caters to my own likes and I know that some of the notes struck within may not be everyone's cup of tea (I embrace a possessive Jaime, an unwaveringly loyal Brienne, writing the medieval era appropriate outlooks and speech and the idea they would be eternally faithful to one another until the end of time) but everyone has their own personal preferences, therefore I am telling these themes upfront so each can decide if this fic is for them. :)
> 
> What can I say? I enjoyed writing this. LOL :D  
> So now I am sharing it, in the hopes that it may bring a moment of happiness to another Braime shipper's day. <3

When it came to combat, Brienne of Tarth knew men. Their habits and weaknesses, the cocksureness and overconfidence which would ultimately prove their downfall. She knew they laughed loudly when in their cups, openly mocked, made lurid remarks. How they swore with abandon and sought whores when their blood ran hot in their veins with the rush that followed a victory. 

From a young age her Septa had schooled her in their duplicity. Shattering dreams and romantic ideations in one fell swoop. She was taught of their deceit and shallow ways, how they would always be dominated by what their eyes beheld. Her Master-At Arms warned her of their ability to discriminate and underestimate their female counterparts. And Brienne herself soon learnt first-hand of their cold knack for disregarding feelings, pushing only for their own self-consumed ends. Always concerned with how they could benefit. 

But never in her twenty-one odd years had she met a man as confounding as Jaime Lannister.

_‘There are no other men like me, only me.’_

She had heard him say that once to Lady Catelyn, many distant moons ago and the statement was as truthful then as it was in the present. 

The lion of Lannister utterly perplexed her. A man of duality, sentiment and complicated extremes. 

Oh, but they were never displayed openly - always tucked away beneath layers of humour and insouciance. Recognising his truths was an art form more intricate than Water Dancing and requiring a similar degree of diligent practice. But just like the waltz of blades, the warrior woman embraced a challenge and was determined to read the secret language behind each of his tells. 

With fascination and apprehension Brienne would watch how Jaime managed to fluctuate between two severities of emotion seemingly without trigger. Ofttimes oscillating within the space of minutes. 

Since their first meeting in the Riverlands, Jaime had always intrigued her. His contrasts and polarising nature had been tolerable back then, when he was but an enemy at arm’s length, his subtleties of little consequence to the Warrior Maiden solely focussed upon her mission and vow. Detached and removed from any personal connection with the chained man walking beside her. 

But over the course of their travels, they had unexpectedly discovered themselves allied in the face of adversity. And their dynamic altered irreversibly. 

Roped together at the mercy of their captors, Brienne had occupied her mind by pondering the lion’s motives, finding his changeability disconcerting, never knowing how or where the dice he tossed would land. Nevertheless, the Maid of Tarth was grateful for his allegiance and soon established that she could shoulder his mutable character. Brushing it aside when she became especially flummoxed. 

However, with Jaime as her lover - this was not as easy. 

Accommodating his shifts in mood was a constant game of catch up and decipher. Brienne often found herself swimming against the current, tossed upon his breakers. Rising and falling with the monotonous motion of Jaime’s waves, cresting and crashing, soaring high before plummeting low, the only surety being his next switch coming.   
  
However, Brienne made sure to never voice her concerns aloud, for she would not want to be misconstrued. Her bafflement mistaken for grievances and complaining, inflicting an unintentional wound upon his already complicated heart.

Such a notion was gut wrenching – for she loved this infuriating man with every fibre of her being. 

Day in and out, Brienne revelled in his closeness, basking in the glory which was the breathtaking intensity of his emotions. Swept up in the riptide where she was carried by his undertow, the gravity of his love pulling her into the murky consuming depths of feeling. 

If often seemed as though she were breathing water, a foreign sensation each time she inhaled, filling her lungs and threatening to drown her with its magnitude. But at the same time, she adjusted, cherishing the way it spurred her towards blissful surrender. Her chest adapting to the heavier burden of carrying another’s heart beneath her ribs, alongside her own. Submersed in this concentrated potency, a foreign world removed from her previous solitude, where every sensation was amplified and made all the more intoxicating. 

At night as the ice winds blew outside, Brienne still could not believe his lips traversed her skin, his lone hand squeezing the few womanly curves of her ungainly physique which she hid from view, disguised by metal and chainmail. A sanctuary unbreachable to everyone but Jaime. 

Brienne would pant his name cyclically into his ear, her voice laboured and gravelly with pleasure whilst her long legs hugged his hips allowing him to anchor himself inside her centre. The frequently denied aspects of her femininity given free rein in the privacy of their tent, providing his port in the rampaging tempests of both blizzard and mind.   
  
  


The Lady of Tarth was not a woman of many words, prone to silence since her formative years. She let her body convey her truth, speaking for her in both war and love. 

With a sword in hand she battled bravely to correct the wrongs in the kingdom, fighting for life, integrity and innocence until her last ounce of strength was spent. 

And with Jaime in her bed, she gave her all, never holding back from the man she adored. Arms, mouth, hips, thighs all united in expressing to him that which evaded her in vocal form. His match in passion and dedication.   
  


Yet still - some nights she would lie upon her pillow afterwards and watch Jaime flicker, his eyes cloud with an unidentifiable melancholy, contrasting wildly against the flames of ardour which only minutes before sizzled their sheets and made sweat sheen upon their naked flesh even in the belly of winter. 

In the beginning Brienne feared it was dissatisfaction with her or regret of their coupling, but Jaime’s assertions corrected that default leap of logic. Quashing the insecurities before they found purchase. _“I love you,”_ slipping from between his lips almost as frequently as _“Wench”._

These confessions were only reinforced by his behaviour, the large warrior woman quickly realising what it meant to be half of a duo. 

Upon their pallet, buried beneath furs, her lion had no concept of personal space. Obliterating any gap which lay between their forms to nuzzle into her, exploiting the natural delineations of her body to fit himself snugly into the crook of Brienne’s neck or flush against her spine. Barging into her sleeping zone in his endearingly pushy way, the same variety of ambush he had originally employed with his constant nattering conversation. Wearing her down until she draped two long, freckled arms around his shoulders, exhaling patiently and yielding to this new extension of her anatomy. 

Next, Brienne deduced that what she perceived in his countenance must be heartbreak over his twin sister’s demise, but months prior he had laid that suspicion to rest as well. Watching from a hillside as the breeze scattered the ashes of the Keep....

“The Iron Throne became her funeral pyre.” He said sombrely, green eyes remote as he scanned the destruction, a small crease forming between his brows the only sign of distress. “That is what Cersei would have wanted – to cling to power until her last breath. She always maintained that we were the same, but by the end we were very different. Cersei desired a crown and control. All I’ve ever wanted is love and to regain what shreds of honour I have left.” With that he had kicked his horse into motion, circling around and riding down the slope. 

When Brienne had found Jaime again, he was busying himself with the arrangements for Tommen to be sent to Dorne alongside Myrcella. With their true parentage revealed, their claim to the throne was void and the Dragon Queen had agreed to spare the blonde children in exchange for the Westerlands’ swords in the ultimate Northern war to come. Jaime reprised his long-forsworn role as Lord Lannister, pledging and promising whatever was necessary to keep his children and himself alive. 

The orchestration it had taken to smuggle his issue from the Red Keep was miraculous in itself. Working against the clock before the great Black Dragon opened its gaping maw, spewing molten death down upon the castle and its unyielding monarch.

Brienne had volunteered to go with him but Jaime has refused bluntly, instead taking Ser Addam into the labyrinth of tunnels. Her lion kissed her fondly upon their goodbye, pleading with her not to be heroic and to dismiss any 'pig-headed' ideas of following him. 

Come to think of it - his eyes had held the same morose sadness then as she often saw pass through them now. A variety of resignation and mourning for what could have been if circumstances were more felicitous, lending themselves to a prosperous future instead of subsequent wars.

In the end Brienne and Tyrion both had played their own part, pleading with the impulsive Targaryen for more time, extending Jaime’s window of opportunity by minutes, seconds. Each step Jaime and the small party were granted could mean the difference between life and death, between escape and being sealed in a rubble strewn tomb of tunnels. 

When Daenerys’ compulsion to take to the skies upon Drogon could be stayed no longer, Brienne had rushed to the mouth of the passageway. Standing vigil and praying to all Seven Gods that she would see her inamorato again, her vision haunted by the sprawling Keep in the distance, crumbling to the roars of Fire and Blood. 

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes when Jaime emerged, dishevelled and coated in dust and debris. Tommen thrown over his shoulder as Myrcella was led by Ser Marbrand. 

Emerging into sunlight, her out of breath lion had placed the boy down, checking him over with frantic paranoia before repeating the process again with his daughter. Finally appeased that both were uninjured, he had swept them into an embrace. The image of the man she loved clinging to his children seared into her mind and chest. 

Sending the former King and Princess hastily to Sunspear had been Tyrion’s stroke of genius, though Jaime had been hesitant, loath to part with them now that he could openly call them his own. But it was 'for the best'.

“Why Dorne?” Brienne had asked. 

“Myrcella was betrothed to Trystane, allegedly they developed at attachment during their time spent together – though now with her reduction in station the most she can hope to achieve with him is the position of paramour.” Jaime spat the title with distaste. “I mislike it immensely but as my brother so kindly pointed out – they are bastards and Queen Daenerys is not likely to legitimise them anytime soon.” Her handsome Lord scowled. “My only consolation is that they will be as far South as they can get. Away from this cursed Winter and the war to come.” 

Brienne had reached over, taking his one hand between hers, cradling his fingers in a soft nest of flesh and freckles. “I would gladly write my Father – they could be sent to Tarth. Our Island is South and across water - they would be safe.” 

At least then he smiled, giving a wry chuckle. “A very kind offer My Lady, but how were you going to explain that?” He searched her face, silently asking her to follow his train of thought, as his voice took on a degree of imitation. “ _Father please harbour the following two children; they are near to fugitives as the Dragon Queen may rescind her clemency any day of the week if she decides they are a threat to her crown – putting all who would protect them in danger. Who are they? The children of our former enemy, Queen Cersei Lannister. But fear not, they no longer have legitimate claim to the throne - for it is admitted they are bastards born of incest. Why are we harbouring them? Well, although I remain unwed, I am openly flouting convention and propriety. I have tossed away my virtue to lay nightly with their Father. Just to confirm – that is Jaime Lannister, the reviled Kingslayer. One of the highest upon our new Queen’s ‘most despised’ list…”_

Brienne had silenced him by moving one of her oversized hands to cover his mouth. “I was thinking more: _You are a Father and I write to you as both a daughter, and a woman. I am sending two children to be entrusted into your care. They are the natural son and daughter of the man I love and when I can be there instead of fighting this war I will gladly act as a Mother to them. But as duty calls us both away, I ask you to shelter them on our behalf, until the Summer sun shines upon Westeros again and we can all be together as a family.”_

When she removed her hand from Jaime's lips, it revealed a beaming grin beneath. All teeth and elation as he happily repeated her words. Checking as though he may have misheard the sentiment which brought such a smile to his face. “As a Mother to them?” 

Brienne shrugged. “They are an extension of you, which means I can only come to love them. You have asked several times to take me to wife – does that not mean I would also take them as my own?” 

“It would… Only you are yet to agree. We could be wed on the morrow if it please you.”

Frowning, Brienne thought of the raw grief within him, the farewells still to come, the battles and carnage lying ahead to the North. She did not want their vows tainted by the hopelessness, hurriedly exchanged amidst the spectres of death. 

“It is merely a formality Jaime. Completely unnecessary at this point in time. I do not need a ceremony to know that I love you and I already share your bed. Marriage is a dream of Spring.”

The disappointment was so evident on his features that she almost reneged. 

Almost. 

For she herself was determined when she set her mind on a course of action. 

But Brienne lamented the return of the shrouded green, emeralds dulled to seaweed as her refusal conjured the gloom back into his soul. “I will not put your people at risk.” He muttered despondently. “Tyrion has arranged for them to go to Dorne, it would be poor form to reject the invitation now.” 

Jaime was stony-faced as he waved his son and daughter off at the docks. Remaining strong as he reassured them all would be fine. But it was that night when the outpouring of grief came. With his children gone and his immediate purpose fulfilled, despair seeped through the chinks in his armour. 

She observed how his eyes welled as he prepared for bed. Deviating from routine by not kissing her or fumbling one handed with her buckles and straps in a desperate attempt to render her naked and wrestled to the mattress. 

“It is alright you know.” Brienne sat on the base of the pallet, hands resting on her knees, blue spheres filled with empathy and the desire to share his load. “You can mourn your twin, Jaime. I will not resent it. I would hate for you to bottle the pain for fear of offending me…” She swallowed, her tacit brain grasping to find the words. “… I want to be here for you. The person you do not have to hide from. For our relationship to be honest - as it always has been.”

He had nodded, maintaining his stoicism as he continued to undress. But once the torches were doused and he slipped beneath their covers, the cloak of darkness stripped away his front. Reaching for her and dissolving into a flood of tears. 

Brienne held him throughout the night, foregoing sleep to be his comfort. Combing her fingers through his mop of curls and feeling wetness soak the shoulder of her nightshirt. Dismissing his mumbled apologies with soothing tones, telling him it was human to feel the loss and completely understandable. Astonished by the leaden weight she felt crushing her own chest with each of his wracked sobs. The way her connection to Jaime had surpassed empathy and metamorphosed into shared anguish. That if he ached - irrespective of her own opinions on the fallen lioness - she by proxy ached as well. 

By morning he was cried out, scrubbing his cheeks rigorously to disguise the tracks of tears. Habitually opening his mouth to say sorry once more. 

Brienne silenced him with a raised hand. “Do we belong to each other?” 

Jaime had nodded timidly, his fires temporarily dampened but not extinguished with the death of his sister. Reinforcing what they had long suspected – that he was not bound irreversibly to Cersei. The ties between the twins were forged by birth, by relation and continual proximity - but beneath it all, they were individuals. Opposite ends of the spectrum, opposing life forces, separate energies and entities. 

However, the same could not be said for the blooming romance between the warrior woman and the golden knight. 

With each passing day Brienne felt how she and Jaime had come to breathe the same oxygen, share concurrent thoughts, instinctually pre-empt the other’s movements. The synthesis between their spirits blending as naturally as the cerulean sky transformed to midnight blue. The progression smooth and seamless, an evolving beauty which continued day by day, night by night. 

“Then nothing needs to be said.” Brienne assured. “We can rely on one another, be there when we have need. It is not a burden or a chore. You are mine.” To her it was as plain as the crooked nose on her face, the simplistic statement succinct and profound. 

The Lord before her managed a small smile, hovering near the exit of their tent. “I am yours.” He agreed emphatically. “And you are mine.” 

She sucked in a small gasp of air as he purposefully invoked the wedding vows.

“Oh, to be in a different and less grim world.” His tone was wistful, throwing her a triumphant smirk and revelling in proving his point. Letting out a huff whilst he pulled a leather glove over his golden hand. “We are scheduled to begin the march North today, aren’t we?” That was when she saw it again, the bleak grey shade of misery. A completely different phantasm than his grief, from a buried layer of his soul. 

And she knew in that moment it had nothing to do with the death of Cersei.

In the long months that followed, they only grew closer. Risking life and limb to stave off the attacks of the undead. Cold and futility wearing down their stamina and eroding the optimism that Westeros could survive to see Summer’s return. 

Morale waned as the corpses came in droves. They fell only to rise again with a fresh batch of newly dead recruits. 

Brienne and Jaime battled on, the scores of times they swung their swords outnumbering the tally of snowflakes which descended with the bitter snowstorms. Bogging them thigh deep in drifts and slush. Chilling them to the bone, making every motion more sluggish, sapping their energy with even the slightest movement. 

The sun ceased to rise, along with the moon, their celestial absence plunging the spirits of the living armies into the depths of despair as they were forced to retreat further South, relinquishing more ground to the aptly named ‘Night’s King.’ 

During the infrequent breaks of respite where fatigued troops were spelled in their tents, wails of the forlorn filled the air as men lamented their mortal coil. Their sorrowful tones mingling with the howls of gales to create an eerie requiem.

Through it all, they clung to each other and Brienne became more resolute in the aftermath of every battle. Seeking refuge in Jaime’s nearness, relishing the warmth of his golden flesh beneath her mouth.

_They can try us and test us, pit us against the worst of odds, let the sky itself fall down and the vestiges of humanity disintegrate all around us – but I will never let it impinge upon our love._

Which was why tonight it vexed her. The dolefulness in his gaze, the broody set of his chiselled jaw. The way he peered across their pillow, a million miles away. Lost to a place which slanted his full lips downward as he studied her - the look of borrowed time. 

“Hey!” The Lady of Tarth snapped her fingers in front of his face. “None of that.” 

“What?” Jaime tilted his head slightly in puzzlement. 

“This…” Brienne waved her hand in a circle, an all-encompassing gesture of his facial expression. “I know what you are thinking and it has no place in these furs. Whilst we are here, we make each moment count.” She stretched to his mouth, planting a swift kiss upon the corner. “We think only of loving – not losing.” 

“You cannot possibly know all the notions which pass through my mind. Some indeed are troubling whilst others are more pleasant.” Returning to her, Jaime leant over to nibble her bare shoulder. Making small nonsensical humming noises against her skin as he navigated a trail to her collarbone. “Mmmmmm, my sweet woman…” 

  
“Sweet?!” She guffawed at the concept. Indignation and amusement permeating her voice. “Say that to the men I’ve slain or the Knight’s I’ve knocked into the dirt. I am the farthest thing from sweet and _you_ should know that better than anyone.” 

“Now although I could contest - and I am very ready to argue in favour of the fact that you are probably the sweetest natured woman I have ever met - I will eschew from pursuing that avenue of argument. Because, for the purposes of this particular conversation - that is not the way I meant it.” 

Brienne twitched her nose, wrinkling it slightly. Sinking into the mattress and cupping his face in her fingers, enjoying the way his beard tickled against her calloused palms. “Then how?”   
  


He shook his head playfully, the spikes of his stubble pressing further into first her left hand, then her right. “I do not wish to say. You will scold me for being so possessive.” 

Curiosity made her compromise, keen to dig and unearth the origins of his inscrutable malaise. Wondering if this hidden observation was the key to unlocking one of the doors on his hall of spectres. “And if I swear I will not?”

Jaime sighed, steeling himself for a lecture but also exuding a sense of happy pride. 

“It brings me contentment to know that you have never been with another. That there are no other men who can lay claim to you, no one with which I have to share. That in this moment you belong to me and me alone. My maiden, my lover, my woman. I’ve never had that – someone I can call mine…” He rolled onto his back with a dramatic thud, the wood of the makeshift frame creaking as his weight shifted. 

_There it is._

Brienne rotated onto her side, watching his profile darken, a screen of smoke turning his verdant eyes to dreary glass, his lilt dropping to a grumbling octave. 

“…Though I suppose, if I were not lying here, it would be Hyle.” 

“ _WHAT?!”_ Now she _was_ furious. Sitting upright to glare down at him, Brienne folded an arm across her chest, clutching the blanket to her meagre teats as fury emanated from her in waves. “How could you say _that_ to me?!” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He shrugged. “It was quite plain he fancied you. If I hadn’t come with you to seek Lady Stoneheart…” 

“You do me an injustice Ser.” She hissed the words at him, the insult cutting almost as much as the misjudgement of her character. “How can you be my lover yet know me so little? After all this time…” 

“I didn’t mean offence Brienne, do not think the concept brings me any joy either, it is just the way of it, what I have come to know to be true. Ladies fall into the beds of men who pay them courtesies or further their place in society. Whom their Father’s deem suitable or who may help to produce healthy heirs. Do not mistake me Wench, I am very glad it was not the case with you. But if I die…” 

Pools of still green water were stirred, fed by a well of sadness within, breaking their banks to wet lower lashes like reeds in the sand. Repressed and blinked away so only dew clung to their strands.

“…If the Dragon Queen flips her Targaryen coin and changes her mind, having me executed on the morrow. Or more likely still the undead swarm me as I grow weary and my left hand can no longer fend off their masses… Even as I say these things, they sound less an ‘if’ and more a ‘when.’” 

His timbre was strangled, the certainty of their parting breaking him apart. “When life reprises and I am but a distant memory, fading further into insignificance. Our love will dim and take a back seat, relegated to a war time liaison. Absence makes the heart wander and I wonder whom shall take my place.” 

And Brienne had her answer. The shroud he carried was his own. 

Bemoaning a hypothetical where he was deposed within her affections, where her fidelity and devotion was just a fleeting interlude betwixt her service as a swordswoman and the Lady of Tarth she would become. 

But she could not begrudge him his lack of faith - for betrayal and deceit were all he had ever known. Pessimism and doubt cultivated within him by a woman who replaced him whilst he withered away within a dungeon, who entertained other men when his sword hand was severed from his wrist. 

The propensity to love - Jaime possessed in abundance - but belief was more scarce within him than sunlight in the preternatural starless sky.

“Jaime…” Brienne began, summoning the phrases which would provide him reassurance. Making him understand the inviolability of what she felt in her chest. “…I didn’t have to do this.” She swept her arm across the expanse of their bed. “I didn’t need to part my thighs in order to prove something to myself or anyone else. I have never actively sought a man to share my life with and in fact I spurned those who did try. I have lived just fine for over twenty years without the shallow compliments which make other girls swoon, without romance, without intercourse, without the need to have a lover in my life to feel validated and had it not been for you – I would continue to do so. I resigned myself to inevitably disappointing my Father, to spinsterhood and letting Tarth fall into the hands of distant relatives when I fail to provide an heir.” 

She wriggled closer, tilting his chin with her finger so he would stare into her eyes. “And as you so blatantly pointed out months ago - all this tryst equates to is risk. My virtue is destroyed, my reputation blemished, my honour as a Lady compromised and with every exquisite climax we share, we gamble with the prospect of pregnancy – Moon Tea is not foolproof.” 

Brienne exhaled loudly. “These are not dangers I need in my life simply for the sake of gratification. We live in a transitional period where misguided decision making means the difference between a line flourishing or dying out to extinction. Where allegiance is everything and each move a noble makes is monitored for treason. If all you say is true, I would have been far wiser to maintain my chastity and wait it all out than bedding down with a Lannister. The timing of this liaison is flawed.”

His moss lakes were wide, sanguine but still apprehensive. “Then why did you do it?”

_I love you._

“You are really going to ask me that question?-” Her voice was gentle, her subconscious screaming. 

_I love you with all my heart._

“-Surely you know the answer…” 

_Body and soul; I love you. Never doubt. There is no other and never could be._

“…there is only one constant. A single invariable that makes my choices understandable.” 

She would make him come to the conclusion himself. 

Brienne knew the instant the realisation came. The softness which overtook his mien, the joy and incredulity as he pushed himself upright to sitting. 

“But dedication like that – I’ve never known it. I love you with a limitless infinitude Brienne, you are the light of my existence. And if the unthinkable happens - which I cannot even bear to say - I will spend the rest of my years pining for your warmth, your company. Peerless, irreplaceable – never lonely when I can replay my precious memories, but always heartsick for the feel of you in my arms. Solitude is the only solution in your absence, for I have no further love to share. My heart given to you in perpetuity, the phantoms of your touch enough to sustain me until my last breath. But…can it really be true in return? That I could be enough for you – for life? It has never been the way… I have always been a faithful partner but the same was not true from the other perspective. I am disposable, easily substituted. Whether I be captive, dead or simply lacking in some regard, there is always another who can fill my shoes. If not me then someone else.” 

“Jaime-” Brienne brought her forehead to his. “-if not you – then no one.” 

He hiccupped a chuckle, his teeth gleaming pearly white, exuding pure elation. Kissing her passionately and drawing her to him with both arms. 

Brienne reciprocated unreservedly, straddling his lap and revelling in successfully vanquishing one of the monsters which lurked in the recesses of his damaged psyche.

“But-” Her lion forced out words between breathless snatches of lip and tongue. “-you don’t want to marry me?” 

“Yes, I do.” She corrected, suddenly acknowledging how he became confused. “Just not now…” Brienne caressed his cheek, running a thumb along from the bridge of his nose to his ear. “I want to pledge myself to you beneath golden rays of sunlight, where the salt tinges the air and birdsong accompanies my journey down the aisle. Where the Sept is sprayed in wildflowers and upon our wedding night I can discard my tansy tonic and start work upon giving you a child if you wish it.” 

“I would.” He glowed. 

“Tommen and Myrcella can attend - and Tyrion. My Father can present me to you and from that day onwards never again will either of us be alone - a farewell to the solitary creatures we were - for you would name me wife and I’d get to call you my husband.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her scarred cheek into his facial hair. The desperate want for the vision to be reality burning her eyes and birthing a waterfall down her cheek. “Though if we are being honest – already we are never alone. I don’t ever want to be without you.” With all four long limbs she entwined herself around him, holding him tight. Legs folding around his waist and arms encircling his shoulders. 

Beyond the pavilion the hollow overtures of desolation keened but within the circumference of their love - the impenetrable dome of adoration they built for one another - they were untouchable.

_And we will fight to preserve it._

_Battle to expand it._

_Shine our own sun, until the rays break through the night._

This was her calling. The union of her two skill sets. The acts of war and loving, brought together to protect the thing she held most sacred. Jaime’s love had arrived in her heart without warning, her life remoulded to that of a couple’s. The most unexpected of treasures, the nonpareil highlight of her existence, in all its purity, agony and splendour. 

“Does that mean we are betrothed?” She could hear his rapture, giving him aspirations. The corporeal imagery of their shared future so tangible it was almost sensory. They could smell the blossoms, taste the fresh air, feel the ambience and each other’s bliss. 

“Yes.” Brienne breathed. “Until we speak our vows in that radiant Sept, take this as my troth and promise. Forever Jaime, we shall be each other’s. Not just until the Stranger parts us but until the end of time. For me - there is no one but you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


End file.
